“Listen, Tommy…” Alicia glanced over her shoulder. “I have to

be going.”
“Can I call you?” He leaned against the glass door of the nail shop. “Sure, that’s why I gave you the number. But at this point, I can

only see us being friends.”
“Why?”
“I think you’re a drug dealer.”
“How do you figure?”
She looked over at his Escalade but didn’t say anything. “The truck, huh?”
“I’ve dated hustlers before.”
“What happened?”
“They usually go to jail or get killed by rival drug dealers.” “I’ll call you, Alicia. Maybe you can help me rewrite that ending.” “Call me, Tommy. It was nice meeting you.”

Tommy and Nia sat on the sofa, counting money, putting it in thousand-dollar stacks—hundred-dollar bills on top then the twenties, tens and fives ... After they finished counting the money they stuffed it into Samsonite briefcases. The money totaled about two hundred thousand dollars. Nia got up and peered out the window. A peaceful street in suburbia, with SUV’s and European cars in every driveway. Nothing eventful ever happened on this street.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Tommy; I guess all this money in here is making me nervous. Somebody has to know about you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Tommy, you just got robbed a week ago. You know the old saying in the street: If the niggas know, the police know.”
Tommy walked over and hugged Nia.
“Tommy, I don’t know if I can go on like this anymore. I was telling my friend the other day that I feel like I’m in one of those street lit books.”
“What books?”
“You know … A Hustler’s Wife, Little Ghetto Girl…”
“Listen, baby, this ain’t no book. This is real life.”
Her eyes had expanded. “I know, but I can’t help the fact that I’m scared.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. You, of all people, don’t have anything to worry about. I would never involve you in my life. I remember what happened to Jamal and how he had his girl on the run with him and shit. I ain’t that kind of nigga.”
Their eyes met and held.
“Listen, I have a goal. As soon as I make my goal, I’m out of this shit; I’m finished with this lifestyle forever. I promise, babe.”
Nia walked over and grabbed the briefcase. “Tommy, two hundred thousand dollars is in here; why ain’t this enough? You have no kids and you are not married. Why ain’t that enough?”
Tommy considered it. He did have a lot of money, and he could probably do a lot with it. He’d thought about a legitimate profession, like running car lots, and investing in real estate, but he hadn’t pursued it.
“Tommy, I know we aren’t the ideal couple. I mean, our sex is horrible … but, Tommy, you have such a big heart and you are such a good person … I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me. See, a lot of people go outside their crews and that’s when shit gets ugly for them. Me, Twin, and JoJo have been knowing each other since the sandbox. I know those are my niggas.”
Nia sat down while Tommy went in the room and got another bag full of money. They continued to count.
When they finished, there was a total of four hundred thousand dollars in the house.

When Tommy and Twin got off the plane at the Miami International Airport, two men in plain clothes met them.
“Tommy and Brandon?” the taller of the two men called out. Tommy stared without saying a word.
Twin looked at the two men then said, “Who the fuck are you?” The shorter of the two agents flashed his badge. “I’m agent Rawls

and this is my partner. We’re with DEA, Miami division.”
“Yeah? And what do you want with us?” Tommy asked nervously. “We just want to talk.”
“About what?”
“Follow us. We’ll go somewhere private. Do you boys drink coffee?” “Are we under arrest?”
“No. Just want to ask some questions.”
“We don’t know shit about drugs. All I know is they’re bad for

The tall agent laughed. “It’s funny you would say that, Brandon, because according to our information, you’ve done time for drugs already. Remember that possession case when the police raided your girlfriend’s apartment and found those five ounces of coke?”

“Yeah, but I’ve done my time for that. We need to get our bags and head to the beach. We’re on vacation.”
“From what? You don’t have jobs.”
“We have to be going.” Tommy said, sidestepping the two officers.
“Listen, I want you to take heed to this warning: You have to be lucky all your life, but we only have to be lucky once. Drug dealers always slip up.”
“Have a good day officers.”

Manny met Tommy in the lobby of his hotel. They greeted one another with a hug.
“Let’s go somewhere for drinks,” Manny said.
“Not right now.”
Manny looked confused. “We always go for drinks. What’s wrong?”
“The feds approached us when we got off the plane.”
Manny laughed. “And you are worried, huh?”
“Hell yeah, man. I don’t want no part of those mothafuckas.”
“You know how many times I’ve been approached by the feds? I don’t give a damn about them. If they lock me up, I’m going to get out. If they charge me, I’ll have the best attorneys money can buy. If I go to jail, my family will still be taken care of,” Manny said confidently. “I have my lawyer’s number on speed dial.”
Tommy relaxed. He’d known Manny for quite some time, and he admired his knowledge of the drug trade. He knew Manny would advise him wisely. Manny and his family had been in the business for years, and they were all very wealthy. Tommy wanted to get where Manny was—living in the mansions, driving the Ferraris and Bentleys. He knew that if he ever stocked a few million dollars, he would get out of the drug game in a hurry.
Manny put his arm around Tommy. “Come on, man. Let’s go to the bar and talk. We can’t let the feds stop our show. I don’t know about you, but I got a lot of people depending on me.”
Outside, Manny gave fifty dollars to the valet, who quickly retrieved the Ferrari.
The beach wasn’t crowded. Manny sped down Collins Avenue until he got to Lincoln, where they found the Moon Room, a private restaurant. The guy at the door smiled at Manny and led him to a room in the back. Young Latino women with their breasts exposed and tight skirts waited the tables while salsa music played in the background
“What the hell is this place?” Tommy asked, amazed.
“This is my favorite restaurant. All the girls in here are hookers, so if you see one you like you can take her upstairs and screw her.”
Tommy had seen several attractive women as soon as he’d walked in the door. However, it would be downright shameful if he couldn’t get an erection for some pussy that he would have to pay for. “I just want something to drink.”
The waitress appeared in a black skirt with red pasties over her nipples. “Hey, Manny.” She smiled. “Do you want the usual?”
“Hey, Anna, this is my friend Tommy. Get him what he wants.”
Anna walked over to Tommy’s side of the table, pressing her 36 D’s against his shoulders. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Vodka and cranberry juice.”
“Grey goose okay?”
“Fine,” Tommy told Anna.
“I’ll take a glass of wine, Anna. Give me your finest white wine,” Manny said.
Salsa music continued to play in the background, and Tommy thought about the movie Scarface. Here he was—a boy from North Carolina, in a restaurant with beautiful, topless waitresses and talking to a man with cartel connections.
“So, Tommy… are we going to do business or what?”
Tommy thought hard. He knew that the feds were onto him. He knew that he couldn’t send the product back on the plane. “I have no way of getting my product back.”
“For five thousand dollars extra, I will have my people bring it to you,” Manny said. “Like I said, nothing is going to stop this show. I have inventory and it has to be moved.”
Tommy’s eyes lit up. “You could get that done?”
“Come on, Tommy, we’re family. This is what family is for.”
Anna brought their drinks and two complimentary Cuban cigars.
Manny passed Tommy a cigar. “You smoke cigars, don’t you?”
“No.”
“You’re a big boy now. Smoke … or at least pretend you’re smoking it.”
Tommy put the cigar in his mouth. He really felt like he was a part of a cartel. But he knew, at this level it was deep involvement. He knew he just couldn’t up and quit if he wanted to. He would have to disappear.
Manny smiled then slapped Anna on her ass.

“Twin, I think we should chill,” Fatboy said, speaking into his cell phone. He glanced at the Charlotte Coliseum as he drove by in his Escalade.

“Your girl told you they were on to us. And that little confrontation in the airport...”
“Nigga, don’t worry about that shit. That’s just probably some security type shit. Remember 9-11, nigga? Ain’t nobody safe at the airports.”
“That was the DEA that stopped us, nigga; that wasn’t security.”
“We’re okay, man. Don’t worry about that shit.”
“Take it easy on these phones.”
“The phones are okay. We just got them. Remember?”
“Well, you can never be too sure.”
“I don’t want to chill; I need to make money.”
“I need money, too.”
“Nigga, you got to have at least a million dollars.”
“I wish, Twin.”
“But you got money for the best lawyers, just in case some shit goes down.”
“I don’t put my trust in lawyers. That’s how niggas go to the pen.”
“Fatboy, let’s make one more run.”
“One more?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess we can since Manny seems to think it’s going to be okay.”
“Manny said it was okay then its okay. He’s been doing this shit a whole lot longer than we have.”
“You think so?”
“I know so, man. Relax and let’s get this money as long as we can.”